Choices
by Wilusa
Summary: In the turbulent world of Carnivale, whether or not to kill a man can be a hard decision...with unforeseeable consequences.


DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.

_**Note added 12/9/06:**_ For a _full_, clear picture of my latest take on Ben's killing of Justin and the events of the next day, I'd advise reading "Dead of Night," "Choices," "Proof of Life," "Retribution," and "Ghost of a Chance," in that order.

_**Note added 12/23/07:**_ I should, however, explain that "Dead of Night," "Proof of Life," and "Ghost of a Chance" are in the "Look, even something as unlikely as this isn't irreconcilable with known canon!" category of fan fiction. "Choices" and "Retribution," on the other hand, reflect my actual speculation about the direction the story probably would have taken. One detail in "Retribution" has been rendered AU by later-established canon; for the correct canon, see my more recent fanfic "Trinity."

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_Wh-what the hell?_

A dazed Clayton Jones hoisted himself slowly to a sitting position, refusing to give in to the pain that accompanied every breath. It was dark, his head was spinning, and at first he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened. But he was outdoors, yet sitting on a wooden surface. The front of his shirt felt wet to the touch.

Then it all came back. He was on the porch of a rickety shed, presumably owned by Justin Crowe. And Sofie, of all people, had shot him!

While he was undoubtedly wounded, he didn't feel as bad as he thought he_ should_ feel. Continuing to paw at his shirt, he realized the bullet must have struck his pocket knife, which he'd put in his breast pocket after cutting Sofie's bonds. He guessed the bullet had been deflected, entering his chest at an angle. It probably hadn't gone deep, caused major damage or excessive bleeding. He'd passed out as a consequence of falling heavily on the wound, after he'd first reeled back against a door and bounced off it.

_Why in God's name did Sofie shoot me? _He shuddered at the memory of something he thought he'd seen: unnaturally black eyes, in a masklike face that was just as unnaturally white. _Hell_,he told himself, _that had to be a trick o' the moonlight. Was she so messed up by what Crowe an' his goons had done to her that she didn't know me - woulda seen anyone, or at least any man, as an enemy?_

A darker thought occurred to him._ Was Hawkins right in the first place, when he said she'd gone over to Crowe's side? Was it possible she wasn't a hostage at all - it was a set-up, meant to lure Hawkins into a trap? I thought I heard Crowe tell Stroud to kill her, but what he actually said was "see to" her. "See to the girl!" Coulda meant anythin'. Stroud coulda had his gun out 'cause he thought someone meanin' to rescue her might already be here._

_Whoa. Stroud!_

He remembered sneaking up on Stroud and clobbering him. He'd only connected with the thug's shoulder, but Stroud had fallen backward and, somehow, been knocked out. Now he realized with a start that Crowe's henchman was still lying there, so close that he could reach out and touch him.

_Must o' hit his head on the porch floor. _

_But why didn't he come to before me, see I was alive, an' finish me off? He coulda strangled me with his bare hands. Did Sofie shoot him, too, before she left?_

_He's breathin', but it's ragged. Sounds like he's in bad shape._

He couldn't see much, but he forced himself to run his hands over the exposed parts of Stroud's body, over his clothing, and everywhere he could reach under it. He found neither a bullet wound nor the wetness of blood, only the expected lump on the back of the head.

If there was no other wound, the man's still being unconscious and his weak vital signs could mean that the blow to his head - unlikely as it seemed - had caused a severe injury. Stroud might be dying.

Jonesy thought grimly,_ If he is, it couldn't happen to a more deservin' guy._

The moon broke through the clouds, providing just enough light that he could check his watch. He saw, to his horror, that he'd been unconscious for four hours._ My God, what's happened to Hawkins?_

For the first time since he'd jumped onto the bumper of Stroud's car, he felt a surge of guilt. _Hawkins saved my life. What was I thinkin' when I abandoned him an' rushed off to help that ingrate Sofie?_

_Samson's plan had failed. Crowe was boilin' mad, aimin' to hunt down his enemy!_ Thinking back, he realized that in the split second he had to make his decision, he'd figured that Crowe was unarmed, Hawkins armed with his trusty dagger. _But I had no business assumin' that. It coulda been the other way 'round - Crowe carryin' a concealed weapon, Hawkins unarmed 'cause he was sure Crowe would die on Colossus. _

_An' it looked like Crowe was recoverin' fast. So if they were both armed or both unarmed, his bein' bigger an' stronger woulda given him the advantage. Shit!_

Then another thought struck him. _Four hours. Whatever happened, it's over by now. If Crowe was alive an' conscious, he woulda sent someone to find out what was keepin' Stroud. That don't prove he didn't succeed in killin' Hawkins. But it's a good sign._

After several vain attempts, he managed to struggle to his feet. By then he knew he wouldn't be able to make it back to the carnival. He'd be lucky if he could reach the New Canaan camp without passing out again.

At least he'd been there before, when he and Hawkins were posing as new converts. He'd even met a doctor. _Yeah, a Doc Ormsby,_ he recalled_. The doc's name was Ormsby, an' mine was Jonas Clayton. Glad I picked an alias I couldn't forget!_ Ormsby probably wouldn't know "Jonas" had left. Whatever happened after Crowe got off Colossus, there must have been enough turmoil that a New Canaanite could have been hit by a stray bullet.

_'Course, if someone recognizes me as the carny what was runnin' Colossus, they're apt to kill me. But I need medical help, so that's a chance I gotta take._

He looked down at Stroud. He'd already decided he wouldn't send anyone to help his injured enemy. That was a no-brainer: he _couldn't_ do it without exposing himself. But the blunt truth was that he wanted Stroud dead. And if he left him alive, there was no guarantee he'd die.

_Weak as I am, I can kill him easy. Smother him._

Should he do it?

What if Stroud lived, and recovered? _Whether or not Crowe's dead, Stroud would still be a threat. If Hawkins is alive, Stroud might hunt him down an' kill him. An' he might come after Carnivale in any case. He torched Daily Brothers for no goddamn reason at all. Probably killed the brothers - they ain't never been found._

But could he himself murder an unconscious man? In cold blood? _Yeah,_ he realized, _I could._

_I won't give myself the easy out o' sayin' "I can't do such a thing." Sure I can. The question is, do I want the guilt I'd have gnawin' at me later? _

_Do I want the __**other**__ guilt, o' havin' people I care for die 'cause I __**didn't**__ murder him? Which would be worse?_

_But if he ain't come to yet, how likely is it he will? It's gotta be a brain injury... _

_Maybe he'll live, an' be a vegetable. _

_Maybe he'll come to, an' have just enough wits left to know he's in a livin' hell, not able to walk or talk or feed hisself or even control his bowels!_

Jonesy laughed out loud. God help him...once he'd pictured it, _that_ was a possibility he couldn't pass up!

He knew he was making his choice for the unworthiest of reasons. He'd probably regret it later. He had a fleeting premonition, of years spent agonizing over the thought of Stroud on Hawkins' trail...

But...so be it.

He lingered just long enough to spit on his fallen foe. Then, gritting his teeth against the pain, he set out on foot for New Canaan.

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_**Eight hours later.**_

As the last of the carnival's trucks passed by, Sofie stepped out of the shadow of the revival tent. She walked through the cornfield, straight to the dead body of her rapist father.

_What a strange turn of events, Brother Justin! I wonder if you'll appreciate your good fortune._

After she'd shot Jonesy, she'd driven back to New Canaan with every intention of killing Justin. If she'd found him alive, she _would_ have killed him, and never known a moment's regret.

But finding him already dead, by the hand of Ben Hawkins, changed everything.

Sofie believed she possessed the power to restore the dead to life. She needed to test that belief. She could, of course, have chosen to test it on someone else - someone like Norman, a good man Justin had murdered. But she stood to gain much more by restoring Justin. He was a charismatic figure with millions of followers. And if he was alive solely by her sufferance, _she'd_ be the dominant Avatar. She was sure she'd be able to assert her authority, to use Justin and those legions of followers in any way she chose.

Now, she tuned in once again to the knowledge - long buried in her subconscious - that had brought her this far. _Life-force can be drawn from the corn,_ _but that will only complete his healing. To restore his life, I'll have to kill another human. I can do that easily, by an act of will, if I reach out and find someone who's already in a weakened state._

It took her only seconds to identify a suitable victim. Ben Hawkins lay insensible in one of Carnivale's trailers, barely clinging to life. She could extinguish that faint spark of life with a single thought, and his allies would never guess he hadn't died of his wounds.

Dark Avatar though she was, Sofie found it hard to perceive Ben as an enemy. In what seemed like another life, she had actually cared for him. But he was weak, and close at hand, and it probably _would_ be in her best interest to dispose of him now...

Suddenly, she realized there was one other candidate. Farther away, but still within range of her powers. Unconscious. Suffering from a head injury that might or might not prove fatal.

_Varlyn Stroud?_

She'd paid Stroud no heed when she shot Jonesy, taking for granted Jonesy had already killed him.

This was a man she despised. The brute had roughed her up, treated her like dirt! More important: if he lived and recovered, he'd be a constant thorn in her side - interfering with her plans, trying to break her hold over Justin.

Sofie's lip curled in a wicked smile.

_Oh, yes. Varlyn Stroud. How convenient!_

Carnivale's trucks and trailers rolled on, and Ben Hawkins lived to fight another day.

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The End


End file.
